


crybaby

by afancyghost



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Crying, Dacryphilia, Face-Fucking, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28002867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afancyghost/pseuds/afancyghost
Summary: Iwaizumi has never particularly enjoyed seeing Oikawa cry. Partially because he really is such an ugly crier, and the amount of snot and tears he can excrete in such a short time frame is as gross as it is impressive. Mainly because it always makes something in his gut clench unpleasantly, like his intestines are twisting themselves into a knot, and he always gets a little desperate to make Oikawa’s tears stop, if only so that knot will go away. Even before they started dating in college, Iwaizumi wanted to avoid those tears as much as possible.But right now, he’s not thinking about how to stop Oikawa’s tears at all, and the knot that used to form in his stomach whenever he cried has shifted dramatically from unpleasant to the exact opposite.(or, Iwaizumi hates to Oikawa cry, except for when he really, really doesn't)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 14
Kudos: 302
Collections: Haikyuu NSFW Week 2020





	crybaby

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 6 of the HQ NSFW week, which is a free day!
> 
> enjoy!

Oikawa is an ugly crier. Always has been, always will be.

When they were younger, he would fall off his bike and scrape his knee or Iwaizumi would show off some bug he caught and put it too close to Oikawa’s face, and he would cry instantly and easily. Fat globs of tears would drip down his bright red cheeks, eyes huge and dark like he had a fever, snot bubbles and drool all over his mouth. And he was _loud_ too, a high pitched wail escaping his wide open mouth as he tilted his head back and wept. He would make these little hiccuping and sniffling noises, like he was crying so hard he was about to pass out, and he wouldn’t stop until Iwaizumi carried him home or chased the bug away or did whatever else he wanted.

It got slightly less disgusting as they got older, but not by much. He learned how to keep the snot and drool to a minimum. Or, at least, how to hide it by furiously wiping at his nose with his sleeve or sucking it back up before it could escape his nostrils. But his face would still become a blotchy pink and he almost looked like he was _sweating_ with how hot his skin would get. He would always try to pinch his mouth shut, but it formed a wavering line, his lips parted enough to let out these shaky whines and whimpers that he couldn’t quite contain. The few times that he cried in front of Makki and Mattsun, they always said he looked like a sweltering pig with the voice of a shot horse. Then Oikawa would whine about how awful and mean his friends were, which only made the description seem more and more accurate.

Iwaizumi has never particularly enjoyed seeing Oikawa cry. Partially because he really is such an ugly crier, and the amount of snot and tears he can excrete in such a short time frame is as gross as it is impressive. Mainly because it always makes something in his gut clench unpleasantly, like his intestines are twisting themselves into a knot, and he always gets a little desperate to make Oikawa’s tears stop, if only so that knot will go away. Even before they started dating in college, Iwaizumi wanted to avoid those tears as much as possible.

But right now, he’s not thinking about how to stop Oikawa’s tears at all, and the knot that used to form in his stomach whenever he cried has shifted dramatically from unpleasant to the exact opposite.

Oikawa is on his knees, his hands clenched tight around his own thighs like he desperately needs _something_ to hold on to. He’d ambushed Iwaizumi as soon as he’d come home, slamming him up against the door and sliding his hands into his pants while he whispered things like _missed you so much_ and _need you now_ against his neck. And then he’d dropped to his knees before Iwaizumi even had a chance to catch his breath, pulling his pants and underwear down just enough to get access to his already half-hard cock and pressing sloppy kisses against him like he was too impatient to do anything else. It didn’t take long for Iwaizumi to get hard, and as soon as he did, Oikawa looked up at him through his lashes and sighed out a dreamy _fuck my mouth,_ because he was clearly trying to give Iwaizumi a goddamn heart attack.

They’d never done it before. Oikawa had given him plenty of blow jobs, but he always liked to be in control, pressing down firmly on Iwaizumi’s hips and batting his hands away if he ever pushed his head too much. But Oikawa didn’t seem interested in control this time. He just let his hands rest in his own lap and opened his mouth, the head of Iwaizumi’s cock resting on the flat of his tongue, his eyes looking up at him expectantly. His pupils were so wide and dark, like he’d been thinking about this all afternoon, that Iwaizumi couldn’t help but groan as he buried his hands in Oikawa’s hair and pulled him down.

He’d been tentative at first, overly aware of the first time Oikawa tried to blow him and ended up nearly vomiting in his lap when Iwaizumi accidentally jerked his hips and hit the back of his throat. But Oikawa just kept making these little moaning noises and shifting around on his knees like he couldn’t keep still with how much he wanted it, and his head was tilted back so Iwaizumi had a perfect view of his pink lips wrapped around his cock and the fluttering eyelashes that rested against his red cheeks, and Iwaizumi was only human. So he bucked into his mouth sharply, feeling himself slip into Oikawa’s throat and nearly having a mental breakdown when Oikawa gagged around him and moaned like he was dying for it.

He’s not sure when he closed his eyes. He’d just sort of gotten lost in the sensation, his hands pulling a little too harshly at Oikawa’s hair as he pulled him on and off his cock, his hips jerking erratically now that he knew Oikawa could take it. He hadn’t been going for long when his right hand suddenly travelled south, wanting to cup Oikawa’s jaw and see if he could feel his cock through his cheek, his neck. 

He was expecting to feel moisture on Oikawa’s face. With the way he’d been choking on his cock, there was no way he wouldn’t have saliva and precum all over his mouth and chin. But his fingers were brushing against the top of his cheek, right near his eyes, and while he would have expected a few tears, it was just so _wet_ that Iwaizumi couldn’t help but tense up and jerk his hips back, pulling out of Oikawa’s mouth.

Oikawa wouldn’t have been able to tell him to stop with how he was fucking his mouth, at least not verbally. What if Oikawa had been pushing at his hips and he’d just been too lost in the moment to notice? What if Oikawa was in pain, if something was wrong, if he’d gone too far, and he just _kept going_ even though Oikawa was _crying—_

The knot in his stomach clenched into something ugly and he quickly looked down, moving both hands to cup Oikawa’s cheeks, and then he froze. 

He’s _still_ frozen, looking down at Oikawa’s red face, tears streaming freely down his cheeks and curling around his chin where it mixes with saliva and precum. His eyebrows are furrowed in that way he gets when Iwaizumi teases him for too long, and his eyes are so shot that he almost looks high. He’s breathing heavily, but there are these little sniffling sounds he makes every now and then, and he looks so much like he does whenever he loses a match he worked so hard for or when he overexerts himself and hurts his knee, and Iwaizumi knows that he should be more concerned, but he can’t stop staring because this might be the most erotic thing he’s ever seen.

“Hajime,” Oikawa rasps, his voice sounding croaky and abused, and that’s another thing that should worry Iwaizumi but instead turns him on. “Why’d you stop?”

Oikawa’s hands are still on his own thighs. He hadn’t even tried to push Iwaizumi away. He’d just let Iwaizumi fuck his mouth even though it made him cry.

Oikawa scoots closer to him, pressing the heel of his palm against his own erection, still trapped in his jeans. He uses his other hand to reach up and wrap around Iwaizumi’s cock, pulling it back towards his lips. Oikawa looks up at him with watery eyes and licks a stripe from where his fingers are curled around him all the way back up to the head, his mouth obscenely wide and pink, his face blotchy and tear stained and so completely _wrecked_ that there’s no mistaking the knot in his stomach as one of arousal.

Iwaizumi doesn’t stand a chance. With a curse, he comes immediately, adding a splash of white to Oikawa’s already messy face. Oikawa just closes his eyes and whimpers; if anything, he leans his face _into_ it. If Iwaizumi hadn’t just had his entire life force sucked out of his dick, he might have come right then.

“Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa moans, his face still tilted back so Iwaizumi can look at his cum mixing in with Oikawa’s tears as he humps into his own hand desperately. His watery eyes open once more, just barely, and then his mouth falls open as he shivers with his orgasm, coming in his pants like a fucking teenager, Iwaizumi’s name spilling past his lips in a breath that sounds more like a wail than a moan.

Oikawa has always been an ugly crier, and it’s never made Iwaizumi feel good to see him cry. But right then, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Oikawa’s weepy face, even if he wanted to.

* * *

Later, when he’s in bed with Oikawa curled around him like an octopus, cocooned in all the covers so that Iwaizumi’s feet are left in the cold because he’s a brat, his breath warm and even against his neck — Iwaizumi thinks that it wasn’t the tears that got to him. It was just how desperate Oikawa was. Oikawa has always been vocal and responsive, but it normally takes a bit longer for him to get so debauched, so _needy._ So, of _course_ it would set something off in Iwaizumi, even if there _were_ tears.

Oikawa is Iwaizumi’s best friend, his boyfriend, the person he loves. He would never want to see him cry, would never want to be the one to _make_ him cry. He looks down at Oikawa’s sleeping face, which is not as ugly as his crying face but definitely still goofy looking, and nods his head, feeling more sure of himself. 

This was just a fluke.

* * *

It’s not just a fluke.

It’s been about two weeks since Oikawa decided to break Iwaizumi’s entire brain by asking him to fuck his mouth and then _crying through it._ Iwaizumi has been plotting different ways to return the favor ever since, wondering just how he could catch Oikawa off guard.

They’re lying on the couch, watching some alien movie that they’ve seen a million times before, and even Oikawa doesn’t seem particularly engrossed. He’s sprawled across Iwaizumi’s chest, just sort of dozing in and out at first, but eventually, he starts pressing little kisses against Iwaizumi’s neck and collarbone, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he wants.

Iwaizumi clicks off the television before tossing the remote to the side, grabbing Oikawa by the hip and easily flipping their position. Oikawa smirks, as if he’s proud to have gotten to Iwaizumi so quickly, and it makes something competitive light up in Iwaizumi’s chest — and that’s when he thinks of it.

Oikawa’s never let him do it before, complaining that it’s gross and weird. But as Iwaizumi helps him remove his shirt and kisses down his chest, he can smell the lavender scent of his soap, his skin still soft and fresh from the shower he took this morning. He smells so clean, in fact, that Iwaizumi can’t help but linger for a little while, licking over a nipple with the flat of his tongue as his fingers dance teasingly down Oikawa’s sides. Oikawa whines and wriggles in his arms, clearly ticklish, before pulling at the back of Iwaizumi’s shirt in an attempt to get it off.

“Don’t tease, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa huffs petulantly as Iwaizumi continues to lavish his nipple with his full attention. He only eases off when Oikawa digs his fingernails into the bare skin of his back, finally pulling up enough to rip his shirt off and toss it on the floor.

“Happy now?” Iwaizumi asks with feigned annoyance. He doesn’t actually mind having to pull back for a second, especially since he can actually _see_ Oikawa’s eyes go dark as they trace over his chest and stomach, but he has appearances to keep up.

A smirk curls over Oikawa’s lips and Iwaizumi already knows he’s going to say something bratty and obnoxious. And of course he is proven right when Oikawa says in a sing-song voice, “I’ll be even happier when you get to work, Iwa-chan” and starts to unbutton his own pants, looking up at him through his eyelashes in a way he thinks is seductive and, infuriatingly enough, actually kind of is. Rolling his eyes to demonstrate how _very_ unaffected he is by the look, Iwaizumi bats his hands away and takes over for him, leaning back down to nibble at his abused nipple in retaliation. 

Normally, he likes to tease Oikawa more. He likes to press his palm up against the bulge in his jeans before slowly easing his zipper down, likes to pull his pants down slowly and then repeat the process all over again with his briefs. He likes to lick along the band of his underwear until Oikawa whines, running his hands up his thighs until the tips of his fingers peek under the bottom of his briefs. But there’s something thrilling about the thought of trying something new, and he can’t help but pull his pants and briefs off all in one go, tossing them on the floor in his haste. He wonders if this is how Oikawa felt once he decided on having Iwaizumi fuck his mouth, eagerly awaiting for his return all day and then completely unable to restrain himself once he was home.

“Someone’s eager,” Oikawa comments, because of course he noticed. He notices everything, and Iwaizumi strafing from his normal technique is bound to get his attention. When Iwaizumi finally looks at his face, his cheeks are flushed bright red but his mouth is curved into a smirk. Iwaizumi is caught between wanting to punch him and kiss him. “Got something specific on your mind?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes because Oikawa is never as cool or slick as he thinks he is. Instead of answering, he shuffles further down the couch until he can lie on his stomach between Oikawa’s thighs and hoists his legs over his shoulders, grinning when Oikawa yelps at the sudden manhandling. 

“Iwa-chan, what are you—” Oikawa huffs as he tries to shift up onto his elbows, looking down at Iwaizumi with a pout.

“I want to try something,” Iwaizumi says, voice steady and calm as he brings his hands around the outside of Oikawa’s thighs and up to circle around his waist, completely avoiding his half-hard cock to instead rub soothingly over his belly. Oikawa is completely exposed in this position, his thighs parted around Iwaizumi’s head, unable to move much unless Iwaizumi lets him. There’s something heady about it, all the power he suddenly has over someone who is always the one in control, and he can’t help but press down against his stomach, further pinning him against the couch. “Can I? I’ll stop if you really don’t like it.”

He finally tears his eyes away from Oikawa’s cock to look up at him, and he’s not sure what his own face looks like but it must be doing something right, because Oikawa looks like he just swallowed his own tongue, his cheeks burning even hotter than before. He can feel Oikawa’s thighs shaking against his shoulders, can feel the unsteady rise and fall of his breath in the swell of his stomach, and that gets to Iwaizumi too, _knowing_ that Oikawa can’t hide anything from him in this position. After a few seconds of staring, Oikawa eventually clams up and covers his face with his arms, tilting his head back and whining, “Fine, fine, just do something already!”

Iwaizumi can’t help but huff out a fond laugh at that, his fingers continuing their soothing motion over Oikawa’s stomach. He knows that if he goes straight for it, Oikawa will likely shove him off, so instead, he peppers kisses along the inside of his left thigh, nipping at the firm muscle in a way that he not so secretly hopes will leave marks. When Oikawa’s breathing stutters, Iwaizumi runs his hands up and down his sides, continuing to press kisses against his warm skin until he reaches the crease of his groin. He can’t help but lick along the crease as well, getting off to the way Oikawa’s knees tremble near his head.

“When you said you wanted to try something, I assumed that meant you would actually be _doing_ something,” Oikawa eventually huffs, digging his heels into Iwaizumi’s back. Iwaizumi can hear the attitude and impatience, even though his voice shakes. “This is hardly—”

Iwaizumi licks up the length of his cock, his open mouth curving into a smirk when Oikawa cuts himself off with a gasp. When the sound transforms into a moan, Iwaizumi can’t help but suck the head into his mouth, peeking up at Oikawa through his lashes smugly.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines, throwing his arm over his eyes and reaching down to cup the back of Iwaizumi’s head with his free hand. His fingers move back and forth along the nape of Iwaizumi’s neck, his thumb reaching over to trace the shell of his ear. It’s the kind of quiet tenderness that Oikawa rarely pulls out but always gets to him. “C’mon, don’t be mean.”

Unfortunately, Iwaizumi has never really been able to resist Oikawa. So, he takes more of him into his mouth, bobbing up and down and taking in more and more each time. Oikawa’s fingers never stop moving, scratching through his hair softly like he’s trying to put him to sleep instead of push him further down his cock. Iwaizumi can’t help but moan at the gentle touch, and the vibrations only make Oikawa join him.

He doesn’t want to push Oikawa too close to the edge — at least, not yet. He just wants to get him a little desperate, enough that he would be more open to the idea than he usually is. So when his rapid breaths turn into high pitched whines and his gentle caresses shift into trembling tugs at his hair, Iwaizumi pulls off his cock with one last chaste kiss to the tip.

Oikawa lets out a little whine, but it doesn’t sound frustrated enough that he’ll start complaining. Which is good, Iwaizumi thinks as he kisses down his cock, stopping to nip playfully at his balls and laughing when Oikawa jumps. Oikawa is clearly feeling good, but not so good that he’ll get desperate and demand that Iwaizumi just fuck him already. So maybe, he’ll be relaxed enough for — 

Iwaizumi finally slides his hands down from Oikawa’s stomach to instead cup the curve of his ass. He gives one playful squeeze before using his thumb to pull one cheek apart enough to give him better access to his hole, pink and twitching with anticipation. Iwaizumi blows a little puff of air, just to see, and feels a thrill run down his spine when it clenches on reflex. He doesn’t even realize the way he’s started to lick his own lips.

“What are you—” Oikawa cuts himself off with a yelp when Iwaizumi licks a firm stripe across his hole all the way back up to his balls. Iwaizumi pauses for just a moment, waiting to see if he will say anything, before circling his hole with his tongue again. This time, Oikawa squeals.

 _“Iwa-chan,_ oh my _god,_ what are you—” Oikawa sputters, kicking his heels into Iwaizumi’s back over and over until he finally pulls back and looks at his scandalized face. “Iwa-chan, that’s _disgusting!_ What do you think you’re doing sticking your tongue in there?”

“What, does it not feel good?” Iwaizumi asks. He presses a kiss against his groin, maintaining eye contact as he moves his thumb to just barely poke against his hole. He can feel Oikawa’s thighs tense from the feeling.

“That’s not the _point.”_ Oikawa huffs, frowning down at him. His hair is a complete mess and his cheeks are bright red. He looks completely ridiculous. Iwaizumi has never wanted anyone so bad in his entire life. 

“So what, you mean to tell me you don’t know how to clean yourself properly?” Iwaizumi teases, placing a chaste kiss against the base of Oikawa’s cock. “Your dick is clean enough for me to put in my mouth, but not this?”

At that, he applies just the slightest bit of pressure against his hole, barely even poking the tip of his thumb inside. It’s enough to have Oikawa’s toes curling into his back. 

“I know how to _wash_ myself, you monster” Oikawa grits through his teeth, his face a wonderful mix of offended and turned on. “You could eat a goddamn _meal_ off my ass.”

Iwaizumi huffs out a laugh. “That’s kind of what I’m going for.”

Oikawa’s face flushes even hotter, to the point that he gives in and covers it with his arms. He kicks a heel against Iwaizumi’s back and whines, “Fine, _fine_ — if you want to be _disgusting,_ then just go ahead and do it already.”

Iwaizumi hides his grin against Oikawa’s thigh. He’d tease him about it, but he knows better than to push his luck. Instead, he slowly kisses a trail down his groin, right along the crease of his thigh, trying to soothe him. When Oikawa’s thighs are no longer as stiff as iron bars around his shoulders, he dives back in.

Iwaizumi flicks his tongue out against his hole, and Oikawa startles a bit at the contact. He makes a weird whining sound that isn’t entirely one of pleasure, so Iwaizumi instead licks a flat stripe up towards his balls. That gets a slightly better sound, a breathy sort of sigh. This sort of thing looked a lot easier and more intuitive in porn, but now that he’s faced with it, Iwaizumi isn’t totally certain what to do. So, he just tries to recreate what he saw: he seals his lips over Oikawa’s hole and sucks.

The reaction is immediate. Oikawa squawks like a bird and his legs flail, and Iwaizumi is almost worried that he’s done something wrong when he suddenly moans, deep and loud and throaty. He feels Oikawa’s trembling fingers reach down to desperately grab onto Iwaizumi’s hand, still lying steadily on his stomach, and the touch feels like victory.

Emboldened by Oikawa’s moans, Iwaizumi just tries whatever comes to mind. He swirls his tongue teasingly around the rim, and Oikawa whines. He places chaste kisses against his hole, and Oikawa’s fingernails dig into the back of his hand. He prods his tongue inside, and Oikawa nearly screams.

The noises coming out of him are now constant, rising in volume with every new thing Iwaizumi tries. It makes something hot and fierce stir in his gut, and he finds himself rutting against the couch without even thinking about it. He has his tongue and two fingers inside of him now, the slide easy with lube and spit. Every few seconds, he’ll pull out to lick along his rim, and every single time, Oikawa will moan like the air is being punched out of him. Iwaizumi doesn’t think he’s ever sounded this hot before.

And despite how hot it is — despite how much he just wants to keep going, to press another finger inside, to pull back and see how pink and wet his rim as become, to rut against the couch like a horny teenager until they both come — it’s not in his nature to just let it pass without comment. So, he pulls back. He slips his fingers out, using just the tip of his thumb to stretch his winking hole open. He licks one solid stripe with the flat of his tongue and then laughs, “Sounds like you like it quite a bit, for something that’s so disgusting.”

Oikawa groans, loud and whiny, and kicks his heels against his back again. Iwaizumi just snickers. “Iwa-chan, you’re such a _jerk,_ oh my god,” Oikawa whines, covering his red face with his hands. “It’s — it’s not even _that_ good. You were fingering me, remember? _That’s_ what felt good. The — _other stuff_ was just okay.”

Iwaizumi laughs against Oikawa’s hip. _Adorable._ “Oh, well I guess I really need to work on my technique for the _other stuff_ then.” Iwaizumi can’t see his face clearly, but he can see the tips of Oikawa’s ears steadily turning red. It makes him want to tear him apart. “Bear with it for a little while longer, will you?”

Oikawa doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t push him away either, so Iwaizumi leans back down to get to work. He knows it’s probably a bit petty of him, but he keeps his fingers planted firmly on Oikawa’s ass cheeks, using only his tongue to circle his rim before diving inside. He hears Oikawa inhale sharply, but no other noise escapes him. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, but makes no comment; leave it to Oikawa to hold back when something feels good, just because of his pride.

Besides, Iwaizumi doesn’t need his noises to know that Oikawa is feeling good. He can sense it in his stuttering breath, in his tense thighs that tighten around his head, in his curled toes that press shakily into his back. Even with his mouth shut, Oikawa is the most responsive lover alive.

So he keeps going. He licks all along the rim before pushing his tongue inside, trying to flatten his tongue to give the most width possible. After every few thrusts, he’ll pull back out to lick around the rim again, starting the process all over. One hand strays upwards to tug at Oikawa’s neglected cock, a kind of peace offering, and Oikawa actually lets out a gasp at that, this tiny, quivering thing that makes Iwaizumi grind against the couch. He feels Oikawa’s hand wrap around his own, guiding him to the exact pace he wants, and Iwaizumi follows along, twisting his wrist and thumbing the head the way he knows Oikawa likes.

He knows that Oikawa is close. He can feel it in how frantically he’s moving their joined hands over his cock, faltering and without rhythm, like he’s too desperate to care. 

And that’s when he hears it: a quivering inhale, followed by what can only be described as a muffled sob. Iwaizumi knows what’s happening without even looking, and the coil in his stomach tightens hotly in anticipation. But he _has_ to look, and so he adjusts his position, tilting Oikawa’s hips up so he can see his face even as he continues to thrust his tongue inside of him, and—

Oikawa has a trembling hand sealed over his mouth, desperately and pridefully trying to keep the noises at bay. His entire face is bright pink, his brow furrowed and sweaty, like he just got done with a harsh practice or came home from his nightly jog. And streaming down his cheeks and over his fingers are rivers of tears.

Iwaizumi can’t help it. He moans like it’s being ripped out of him and humps up against the couch like a horny teenager, thrusting into Oikawa faster now, desperate to get him off. He snakes his free hand down and thrusts two fingers inside, giving Oikawa the little push he needs. 

Oikawa finally lets out a noise. It’s loud and strangled and breathy and unlike anything Iwaizumi has heard from him before. And then his whole body pulls taut like a wire, and he can feel him tightening around his fingers, his _tongue,_ and Oikawa is coming, gasping in harsh breaths like Iwaizumi had been suffocating him. 

Normally, Iwaizumi likes to give him a second to bask in the afterglow. He’ll kiss a line up his chest and whisper soft praises until his eyes come back into focus, and then he’ll guide his hand towards his aching cock or continue thrusting inside of him. 

But he can’t wait tonight. He isn’t sure if it’s because Oikawa finally let him eat him out or because of his tears, but either way, the heat in his stomach is so hot and hungry that he thinks he might actually die if he doesn’t get his hands on Oikawa immediately.

He grabs the bottle of lube, tipped over on the carpet from earlier, and spills some into the palm of his hand. Two fingers isn’t enough prep and he doesn’t have the patience for more, so he just lathers the lube over the inside of Oikawa’s thighs before pressing his legs together and hiking them over his shoulder. With his free hand, he pushes down his sweatpants just enough to free his dick, and then guides it between Oikawa’s thighs.

Oikawa moans like Iwaizumi actually thrust inside of him, and his trembling hands reach out for him. Iwaizumi has to practically fold him in half to get close enough, but as soon as he does, Oikawa latches on to him, his fingernails digging sharply into his shoulders as he arches his back and shifts his thighs back and forth.

“Fuck me, Iwa-chan,” he croaks, his voice watery and low. His voice catches around a hiccupping sob and he actually sniffles, and it’s so reminiscent of every time he’s lost a game or watched a sad movie, but it just makes Iwaizumi want to wreck him even more. “Fuck my thighs. Come on, fuck me, I got you.”

Iwaizumi groans, burying his face in Oikawa’s shoulder as he thrusts into the plush warmth between his thighs. Oikawa’s nails scrape up the back of his neck and bury themselves into his hair, and Iwaizumi can feel the tears on his hot cheek from where it’s pressed against his own, and he keeps whispering, his voice cracking with every inhale, “Please come for me, please come, I want to feel it, please, Iwa-chan, Hajime, please, c’mon, I have you, please—”

There’s a high, keening whine ringing through the air, and it takes Iwaizumi a moment to realize it’s coming from him. He can feel himself getting close, can feel it in the heat along his spine and the trembling of his fingers, clamped down so tight around Oikawa’s thigh that it will surely bruise. He turns his face so that his nose is pressed against Oikawa’s temple and kisses his damp cheek, wanting to taste the salt of his tears, to feel the heat of his skin, to take every single gift that Oikawa has given him.

He moans against Oikawa’s jaw as he comes, his own face damp with Oikawa’s tears. He only had maybe a few moments of actual stimulation and he wasn’t even inside of Oikawa, but it feels like one of the best orgasms of his entire life. He thinks he might actually black out for a second.

After a few moments, Iwaizumi practically falls limp. He normally tries to keep from just collapsing on top of Oikawa, mainly because he’ll just whine and dig his fingers into his sides until he moves, but Iwaizumi thinks he might actually be dead. He falls boneless on top of him, and when Oikawa begins to shift his hips to try and get into a more comfortable position (ie, _not_ folded in half), Iwaizumi doesn’t even have the sense of mind to try and help him. He just buries his face into Oikawa’s shoulder like he plans on staying there for the rest of his life and breathes.

“See,” Iwaizumi huffs against his neck, still trying to catch his breath. It’s hard to sound smug when it feels like his soul just shot out of his dick. “I told you it would be good.”

Oikawa laughs, just as breathless, and sniffles. Iwaizumi must actually be insane to still find that hot, but he does. He reaches blindly towards the floor and eventually grabs Oikawa’s discarded shirt. Then, he pulls back, intent on cleaning them up, but stops when he sees Oikawa’s face.

He can’t help the fond laugh that escapes him. “Christ, Oikawa. You’re such a mess.”

And he really is. His face is splotched with pink and his hair is an absolute disaster, even though Iwaizumi hadn’t really messed with it that much. Sweat and tears coat his entire face. There are even little droplets along his neck from where they dripped down his jaw. There might even be a bit of snot mixed in there. To his horror, Iwaizumi can actually feel his dick twitch at the sight.

Oikawa is blissfully unaware of his boyfriend’s existential crisis over potentially finding his _snot_ hot, because he just whines and shoves at his shoulder. “Who’s fault is that?” Oikawa mutters, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. It looks especially ridiculous because there’s still come all over his stomach and tears all over his face.

Iwaizumi smirks. “Mine.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Don’t get all smug. You’re still disgusting.”

“Mhm,” Iwaizumi hums, using Oikawa’s shirt to wipe off the mess on his face. He sternly tells himself (and his dick) that he is not sad to see it go.

“I’m serious,” Oikawa says. Iwaizumi pinches the fabric over his nose to try and get all of the snot off of him, so his voice sounds nasally and stupid when he says, “You’re an animal.”

“Whatever you say, Oikawa.” He wipes at the come and lube coating Oikawa’s thighs and stomach. He _will_ sincerely miss that sight, and he doesn’t feel the need to tell himself otherwise.

“Iwa-chan, you are an actual freak, and I mean that,” Oikawa continues. Iwaizumi doesn’t even give him a response, because he doesn’t know just how right he is.

* * *

 _Oikawa really enjoyed himself,_ Iwaizumi tells himself that night. Oikawa insisted on being the big spoon tonight, so he’s currently trapped in a cocoon made of his arms and far too many blankets. It’s stiflingly hot and he’s definitely sweating, but he also doesn’t want to pull away. _Oikawa enjoyed himself and his tears were an expression of his enjoyment. So liking his tears is the same as liking his enjoyment, which is totally normal._

Despite Oikawa’s claims to the contrary, he snores like a horse. With his mouth so close to Iwaizumi’s ear, it sounds like a bomb going off every few seconds. Iwaizumi presses back closer.

So what if the tears got to him? It’s not weird for him to get off to Oikawa’s moans or his pleas or his trembling hands, so why should the tears be any different? It’s not like he’s going to pop a boner whenever Oikawa cries over something serious. His attraction is totally situational.

Iwaizumi shifts onto his back, pushing against Oikawa’s grip enough so that his snores are muffled against his jaw instead of blasting in his ear. He can feel each breath puffing against his sweaty skin, can feel Oikawa’s heartbeat from where his chest is pressed against his shoulder.

 _It’s not like I need Oikawa’s tears to get off,_ Iwaizumi thinks to himself, his chest slowly filling with relief at the realization. _I just like when he enjoys himself._

His mind finally relaxes. There’s nothing to be concerned about if he just likes it when Oikawa feels pleasure. If anything, that makes him a good and attentive lover, right?

Iwaizumi nods to himself, feeling more confident now. He burrows into the sweaty and overbearing warmth of Oikawa’s arms and lets his roaring snores guide him into sleep, mind at ease now that he knows for sure that he definitely doesn’t have some kind of weird fetish.

* * *

Iwaizumi definitely has some kind of weird fetish.

They’d had a really, _really_ nice night out together. With their clashing schedules, it’s not always easy for them to actually plan a night out; and even when they do have the same night off, they’re often too exhausted or lazy to really do anything. 

But tonight was perfect. Oikawa got all dressed up in his nicest slacks and a blush pink button down that did funny things to Iwaizumi’s heart. They had a lovely, candle lit dinner at a nice restaurant. Iwaizumi even splurged and got one of their nicer bottles of wine, and Oikawa spent the whole evening making eyes at him over the rim of his wine glass, his foot caressing his leg under the table. The weather was perfect, and even though they knew where the night was headed, they didn’t rush. They walked home, hand in hand, perfectly tipsy and happy and sickeningly in love. 

When they got home, it looked like the rest of the evening was going to be similarly perfect. As soon as they entered the door, Oikawa shoved him up against the wall, mouth and hands hungry. He’d kissed him breathless and palmed at the erection that had been stirring in his pants for the last half of the walk home, murmuring against his lips about how much he wanted him, how much he loved him, how much he needed to feel him.

Which is how they got here: Oikawa spread out naked on their bed, his trembling hands pulling at Iwaizumi’s hair hard enough to hurt. He’s been sucking bruises into Oikawa’s thighs for what feels like hours now, his mind so hazy with alcohol that he’s convinced he could turn his entire leg purple if he tries hard enough. Oikawa’s skin is sweaty and hot wherever he touches him. It’s even hotter inside of him, where Iwaizumi’s three fingers have been thrusting for long enough that his wrist has started to cramp.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa gasps for probably the hundredth time that night. It sounds raspier now, like he’d been screaming or sucking Iwaizumi’s dick, even though he’s done neither of those things. “Please, Iwa-chan, please, I can’t anymore, please just—”

And sure, Iwaizumi loves to tease Oikawa, but this feels extreme, even for him. Oikawa has been begging so sweetly and for so long, and yet it’s like Iwaizumi is in a trance. He can’t stop sucking marks into his thighs, biting down just a little too hard so that Oikawa’s jumps every time. His own dick is aching and hard, pressed into the mattress like that will provide any relief, and he desperately wants to move on, to pull his fingers out and replace them with his cock — but something keeps him anchored to the spot. Something keeps his mouth away from Oikawa’s dick, his fingers away from that spot inside him that makes him jerk and arch and moan. Something that tells him that it will all be worth it soon enough, even if he doesn’t exactly know why.

He can feel Oikawa tightening around him, even though Iwaizumi hasn’t touched his cock all night. He’s getting so tight and he’s making these high pitched _ah ah ah_ noises, and Iwaizumi knows that he’s about to come. And normally, after teasing Oikawa for so long, he’d pull his fingers out. Maybe give him a minute to catch his breath, to calm down. And then he would fuck him any way he liked, giving it to him exactly how he wanted as a reward for being so good.

But an image comes into his head — an image where he pushes him over the edge with just his fingers, licks the come up off his stomach, and then fucks him while he’s still so loose and oversensitive, his whimpers on the border of pain and pleasure. And in this image, Oikawa is grabbing onto his shoulders hard enough to bruise and moaning loud enough for the neighbors to hear and he’s sobbing, fat tears leaking from his wide eyes, mouth wobbling around every hiccup and whimper, and—

Oikawa’s thighs tighten around his head and his hole squeezes around his fingers and he moans like it's being ripped out of him as he comes. Iwaizumi keeps pumping his fingers, working him through it until his arched back lowers to the bed once more.

And Iwaizumi would keep fingering him — _maybe he could make him come again on his fingers, and_ then _he would finally fuck him_ — except Oikawa starts kicking his heels against his back and pulling at his hair, and definitely not in the sexy way.

“Iwa-chan, what the _fuck,”_ Oikawa whines, petulant and angry. Iwaizumi pulls his fingers out of him, but he still won’t meet his eyes because he is completely transfixed by the mess on his abs. Oikawa’s blush reaches all the way down to his chest, and the spots of milky white against his pinkened skin are impossible to look away from. “I _said_ I was about to come and you didn’t even listen to me.”

Iwaizumi knows he should apologize. He knows that if he doesn’t, Oikawa will just whine and complain until he gives in. But the image is still in his mind, and even with all the alcohol clouding his judgement, he knows that this is where it would start.

So instead of apologizing, he leans down and begins to lick at the mess of come on Oikawa’s stomach, looking up at him through his eyelashes the whole time. Oikawa immediately cuts himself off by choking on his own tongue. It would be funny if it wasn’t so hot.

“Holy shit, Hajime,” Oikawa breathes, eyes glued to where Iwaizumi’s tongue laps at his skin. The use of his name makes Iwaizumi rut his hips against the bed.

“I wanna fuck you,” his whispers, licking up the last of the come on his stomach and pressing a kiss against his damp skin. “I wanna get you hard again, and then I’m gonna fuck you.”

As far as dirty talk goes, it certainly isn’t his most eloquent — but he must be doing something right, because Oikawa shivers and closes his eyes. His eyelashes flutter over bright pink cheeks, and Iwaizumi desperately wants to kiss them, to touch, to feel their heat. But before he can do that, Oikawa nods, and Iwaizumi has better things to do.

Like, for instance, cover every inch of his chest in the same love bites he littered across his thighs. He runs his fingers up and down Oikawa’s sides as he does, soft and teasing so that he shivers at each pass. When he reaches his belly button, he dips his tongue inside as his hands fumble for the lube, pouring more over his fingers. Then, he goes lower. Right as he licks a stripe up his spent and twitching cock, he also slips two fingers inside his hole, shallow and teasing.

Oikawa immediately clenches around the intrusion and hisses. “Ah, Iwa — I can’t, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He uses the kind of tone that Oikawa never argues against, unless he really doesn’t want something. It’s a tone that always makes Oikawa whine and fall apart. Then, a bit softer, he says, “You’re doing so well for me.”

Oikawa practically _whimpers,_ his body a taut wire, tense and trembling and arching like he isn’t sure if he wants to get away or get more. Iwaizumi licks teasingly at the head of his cock, swirling his tongue around before following along the slit, desperately wanting to get him hard again. Oikawa’s cock twitches valiantly, so Iwaizumi flattens his tongue and licks up from base to tip, exhaling roughly so Oikawa can feel the heat.

“Iwa-chan, I’m good, it’s good enough, c’mon,” Oikawa whines as he grabs onto Iwaizumi’s shoulders, his grip hard enough to bruise. “Fuck me, c’mon, please fuck me—”

His voice sounds desperate and almost watery, like he’ll burst into tears if Iwaizumi doesn’t give him what he wants — so Iwaizumi licks lower, sucking one of his balls into his mouth. He pushes in another finger and goes in deeper, searching for the bundle of nerves inside him. The next sound Oikawa makes sounds like he’s actually dying.

 _“Hajime,”_ Oikawa croaks, his voice cracking around his name and sounding more pathetic than he’s ever heard him. It makes his heart race, makes his dick twitch, makes him hold his breath as he looks up from Oikawa’s cock and sees that there are _tears_ running down his cheeks, his brows furrowed and mouth a jagged, pressed line, like he’s desperately trying to stop himself from crying but he just _can’t,_ and it makes the entire room feel like it’s on _fire._ “Please, Hajime.”

There’s no possible way he can hold himself back anymore. He nearly falls over himself trying to wrestle his briefs off, and he would feel embarrassed, except Oikawa is also fumbling to grab the lube and hand it to him, his fingers trembling with the effort. Oikawa normally whines at him if he spills too much lube on the sheets, but neither of them particularly care at the moment. Iwaizumi nearly upturns the bottle over his cock, pumping it a few times until it’s coated before throwing the bottle elsewhere. Then, he grabs Oikawa under one knee, pushes his thigh against his chest, and guides his cock inside.

Oikawa hisses when he first presses inside, like he’s still so, so oversensitive, but Iwaizumi doesn’t bother to go slow. He knows that he can take it, that it would be even crueler to make him wait. So he pushes in firmly and steadily until he bottoms out, his eyes glued to the tears sticking to Oikawa’s eyelashes the whole time. And Oikawa must know that he’s staring, because he refuses to look at him. His cheeks are pink and his brows are furrowed and his eyes are closed, like he’s too embarrassed to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes, but the tears still run in unrelenting streams down his face.

It releases something hot and feral in Iwaizumi’s gut. Maybe it’s the alcohol or the night or this entire fucking _thing_ he’s suddenly developed for seeing the love of his life cry, but he can’t take it anymore. He hikes Oikawa’s legs over his shoulders, bends him in half, and lets himself go.

He pulls out almost entirely before slamming back in, desperately searching for Oikawa’s prostate, for some kind of stimulation that will make those tears fall even more. Oikawa breathes out watery gasps and warbling moans right against his ear, his fingers digging into his shoulders almost painfully. Iwaizumi knows when he finds it because suddenly, Oikawa tips his head back on a wavering and pitiful moan, his back arching and thighs tensing in Iwaizumi’s hold. 

With his head tilted back like this, Iwaizumi can see a tear running from his jaw and down his neck — and he can’t help himself. He immediately licks a solid stripe up his neck, moaning at the taste of salt on his tongue. Oikawa’s moan is high and reedy, his entire body trembling, and Iwaizumi knows that he must be close. That with all of Iwaizumi’s teasing and the overstimulation setting his nerves on fire, there’s no way he can last long. 

And normally, the knowledge that he’s pushed Oikawa to this point is enough to make Iwaizumi desperate, to have him picking up his thrusts in pursuit of his own release. Oikawa is hot and tight around him, his moans loud and constant, his hands greedy and desperate — but _still,_ it’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough, even with the tears glistening against his pink cheeks. It doesn’t quench the longing in Iwaizumi’s throat, doesn’t scratch the itch at the base of his spine, doesn’t hit the spot just right, even though he _knows_ this is usually more than enough.

When his thrusts suddenly grind to a halt, Oikawa wails like he’s been shot. He buries his hands into Iwaizumi’s hair and _pulls,_ almost meanly, and tries to push his hips back against him. And Iwaizumi feels cruel, like a tyrant, but he still pulls out and says, breathlessly, “Want you on top.”

Oikawa groans in frustration. “Why did you — fucking, just — _fine,_ okay, okay, just—”

Iwaizumi lies back against the pillows and pulls Oikawa along with him, manhandling his weak and shaking limbs until he’s sat astride his thighs. Oikawa looks almost dazed, his chest heaving with rapid breaths that are punctuated with little sniffles every now and then, and it’s driving Iwaizumi absolutely _crazy._ It makes him eager to get him back on his cock.

Oikawa guides him inside, one hand placed on the center of his chest for balance. He eases down slowly, but Iwaizumi can’t wait; before he’s even halfway inside, he bucks his hips up, forcing a gasp out of Oikawa. _“Fuck,_ Hajime,” Oikawa whimpers, his jaw slack and eyes closed. “I can’t — I can’t take much more—”

He cuts himself off with a moan when Iwaizumi thrusts up again. With talking clearly a lost cause, Oikawa begins to move — but his movements are halted and jerky, like he doesn’t have the energy to do much more than grind down against his cock, even though Iwaizumi can _feel_ the power and muscle in his thighs. The thought of making such a strong person feel so weak has him tipping his head back with a groan, and he wraps his hands around Oikawa’s waist to better help him slide along his cock.

Oikawa always sounds louder like this. Like the physical exertion of having to lift himself on and off of Iwaizumi’s cock makes the noises flow out more easily, more readily. The slap of skin on skin sounds louder too, and the bounce of Oikawa’s cock looks deliciously obscene. Oikawa leans back, one hand on Iwaizumi’s thigh and the other on the mattress behind him, desperately trying to find the right angle. And this is normally more than enough too — the sight of Oikawa’s thighs tensing and straining against his own weight, of Oikawa taking what he needs with fierce desperation, of his rim stretched and pink and wrapped around Iwaizumi’s cock like it never wants to let him go. But there’s still this _something_ that Iwaizumi needs, this overwhelming _something_ that makes him want to keep pushing until he finds it.

He’s thinking that maybe the position is all wrong, that maybe he needs to slam Oikawa back to the mattress, when suddenly, a drop of sweat falls onto Oikawa’s abdomen. Except, it’s not sweat — because when Iwaizumi looks back up at his face, he can see the tears pooling down his cheeks and dripping down his jaw, diving right off the edge of his chin to slowly roll down his chest and stomach.

Iwaizumi feels his stomach clench almost painfully, making it impossible to clamp down on his moan. His hands are trembling and his heart is racing and his face is flaming because _this_ is it, _this_ is what he’s been waiting for, what he _needs._ He doesn’t just want to see Oikawa’s tears; he wants to taste them on his tongue, feel them on his skin, hear his sniffles and his gasps and his warbling cries and know that there is _no one else_ who can do this to him, _no one else_ who can push him to tears like Iwaizumi can. Because Oikawa might be all coy smiles and teasing looks and refined confidence to everyone else, but here, stretched out on Iwaizumi’s cock and astride Iwaizumi’s hips and spread out on Iwaizumi’s goddamn bed, he is a puddle of desperate whimpers and helpless tears.

Now that he’s found it, he feels the desperation in his gut bubbling over. He reaches out and grabs Oikawa by the back of the neck, pulling hard enough to make Oikawa yelp and lose his balance. He falls against his chest in a sprawl, his hot, tear-stained cheek rubbing against Iwaizumi’s shoulder and making it hard to think straight. Oikawa tries to straighten back out again, down on his elbows and bracketing Iwaizumi’s head with his forearms, but Iwaizumi keeps him low with his hand on the back of his neck and pushes their foreheads together.

“F- _fuck,_ Hajime,” Oikawa gasps, clenches his eyes shut as Iwaizumi continues to thrust up into his tight heat. It makes even more tears stream down his cheeks. Iwaizumi shivers in hot anticipation, eager to feel them drip down onto his own skin. “I’m so — I’m so close, please, I need—”

But Iwaizumi doesn’t hear him. He’s so absorbed in the slow roll of the tears down his cheeks that he can’t think of anything else.

“God, just fucking _look_ at you,” Iwaizumi huffs, his voice sounding strangled and hoarse. On top of him, Oikawa shivers, threading his fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair like he needs something to hold on to. “Such a fucking _crybaby.”_

Oikawa makes a whining noise, like he’s upset with being teased. He opens his eyes on a glare, mouth already forming a pout — and Iwaizumi isn’t sure what his face looks like, but it must be entirely too honest and revealing, because Oikawa freezes. He doesn’t complain or come back with some snarky comment. Instead, he just trembles in Iwaizumi’s arms, even more tears leaking from his wide eyes.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby,” Iwaizumi coos, his chest tightening as he feels those tears land on his own cheeks, his jaw, his neck. It makes something hungry and possessive curl in his belly, a knot that tightens with every single tear and shaky exhale and warbling moan — because plenty of people have seen Oikawa cry, but only _Iwaizumi_ has seen him cry like _this._ “C’mon, baby, let me see those pretty tears. Show me how much you want it.”

Either the overstimulation is really starting to get to him, or Oikawa is more than willing to play into whatever sort of weird kink Iwaizumi has for seeing him cry, because he does. He grinds back into Iwaizumi’s thrusts with renewed fervor and weeps, gasping on hiccupping sobs and wailing Iwaizumi’s name over and over. And if Iwaizumi were in his right mind, he would know better than to lick the goddamn tears right off Oikawa’s face, would _know_ that that would land him in a world of teasing later — but he hasn’t been in his right mind since the first time he fucked Oikawa’s mouth so hard he cried, and so he does it anyways, relishing in the taste, in the wet heat of Oikawa’s skin, in the way it makes Oikawa swear and hold on to him tighter.

Drunk off the salt of Oikawa’s tears, Iwaizumi growls against his cheek, “C’mon, baby — _cry for me.”_

Oikawa breaks. He lets out a reedy sob as he comes, heaving in heavy breaths like Iwaizumi has been strangling him. He clamps down tightly around Iwaizumi’s cock and tightens his fingers in his hair painfully and rubs his tear-soaked cheek against Iwaizumi’s own — and the knot in his belly curls so hard, it snaps. He throws his head back on a choked moan and comes, his thrusts sloppy and uncoordinated as he rides through the shocks.

Over the roaring in his ears, he can hear Oikawa sniffle and coo at him. He can feel him nuzzling his wet face against his neck as well, his body a heavy and boneless weight atop his chest. And after a few moments of feeling like his every nerve is on fire, his shivering body finally relaxes back into the bed. When it does, the first thing he hears is Oikawa’s breathless giggle.

“My, my, Hajime,” Oikawa starts, trying and failing to sound smug even as he struggles to catch his breath. “That’s quite the kink you got there, hm?”

Iwaizumi groans and feels his face flush. “We’re — we’re supposed to be _basking._ You don’t think this can wait?”

Oikawa laughs, exhausted and satisfied. Despite his embarrassment, Iwaizumi can’t help but enjoy the sound immensely. “You were teasing so goddamn much, and I thought it was just because you have a thing for making me beg for it,” Oikawa giggles, shaking both of their bodies on the bed. “But you were just trying to make me _cry?_ God, Hajime, just _tell me_ next time. I’ll go stub my toe or something. You don’t need to fuck me until I feel like I’m dying.”

Maybe it’s the lingering euphoria, or the exhaustion, or the fact that Oikawa found out about his hard-on for tears and doesn’t seem to think he’s some sort of sadistic freak — but Iwaizumi just laughs, rubbing his hand soothingly along Oikawa’s sweaty back. “If I recall correctly, you came _twice_ tonight. Doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

Oikawa, the bastard, pinches his nipple and twists until Iwaizumi hisses. “Don’t get uppity with me! You’re the one with the embarrassing fetish here!”

Iwaizumi slaps his hand away. “It’s not a _fetish,_ oh my god—”

But then, Iwaizumi is sucking in a breath, because Oikawa lifts his head to give him a teasing stare, and _still_ there are tears on his face. His eyes are rimmed red and the moisture is just starting to dry on his cheeks, and he can see them clinging to his eyelashes, making him look soft and almost _pretty._ His dick, the absolute traitor, twitches.

Oikawa smirks delightedly. “I felt that, Hajime.”

“Please, shut the fuck up.”

“You have a kink for seeing me cry!” Oikawa sings, wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck and rubbing their faces together. “What was that you used to say about my crying face?”

Iwaizumi’s face burns. “Oikawa, if you don’t shut the fuck up—”

“I believe you used to say I looked like a pig and sounded like a donkey. Does that sound correct to you?” Oikawa bites at Iwaizumi’s cheek playfully like the absolute _toddler_ he is. “Hm, that seems awfully strange, Hajime! Are you attracted to barnyard animals?”

“Oh, I’m gonna give you a _real_ fucking reason to cry now,” Iwaizumi says, though his mouth is curled suspiciously upward as he rolls them over, pining Oikawa beneath him and pinching at his sides. “Gonna mess that pretty face up with your stupid tears.”

Oikawa just laughs. “That’s okay. You seem to like me that way.”

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think! also, come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/afancyghost) and [tumblr](https://afancyghost.tumblr.com/)!


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